Ice
by celadon
Summary: There are some things a California boy just shouldn't have to do. Written for Valerie V.'s birthday.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This was written in honor of Valerie's birthday. I actually managed some power writing last weekend and am trying to continue that trend, so the second and final part should be finished today. It was inspired by the huge ice floes covering the park behind me, where a sudden thaw caused the frozen river to overflow its banks and deposit them. Since both Valerie and I are winter babies (and Aquarians) it seemed like an appropriate theme. This is set pre-show, during Don's fugitive recovery days._

_**Ice**_

"I said 'halt'!" Don stumbled on the bumpy, frozen chunks of snow. _Yeah, right, Eppes - that's a lot more convincing if you're not sitting on your ass in a snow bank when you say it._ He slid a few steps before finding his balance again. "Give it up, Chambers! There's no place to go!"

He saw the fleeing figure glance back over his shoulder, then add an extra burst of speed, stumbling some himself before skidding onto more level ground.

_Shit. Just great. _This guy obviously had better boots than he did, or better snow skills, or something. Now he was going to lead him out onto the frozen freaking tundra, and he didn't have any choice but to follow_. Why was it that fugitives couldn't stick to some nice, temperate climate, instead of dragging them all the way to Minne-goddammed-sota, the land of 10,000 over-rated chunks of floating ice? And where the hell had Coop disappeared to? _

"I said 'halt'!" He found solid purchase on the rocky ice and raised his gun warningly, still holding his fire. Chambers, not bound by procedural niceties, turned just long enough to clip off a shot. Don ducked into a crouch automatically, but the hastily aimed bullet went wide.

The distraction, though, gave Chambers time to fuss with something in the ice encrusted bushes. Don heard the roar of an engine, staggered to his feet just in time to see Chambers drag a small snowmobile free and mount it.

Don swore under his breath. That thing could take Chambers right across the not-so-distant border into Canada, and the Canadian government was notoriously reluctant to extradite death penalty candidates. Still, he wasn't going to be outrunning a snowmobile, even on less slippery ground. He raised the gun again, hovering his aim at the snowmobile's sleek metal side. "Halt or I'll shoot!"

Chambers gunned the engine, lifting one hand in a mocking farewell, then twisted the snowmobile in a turn that sent it skimming over the snow.

Don resisted the urge to clip off a shot in sheer frustration, still looking for an opening, ducked again when another crack split the icy air. It wasn't until the snowmobile unexpectedly canted at an odd angle, pointing abruptly nose downward with skis hanging in the air, that he realized that that hadn't been gunfire. The snowmobile sat poised for what must have been the merest second, then slid from view.

_Huh? _Don lowered his gun, rubbing an ice-stiffened glove over his eyes to clear his vision. _What the…? _It took him a heartbeat to see the dark grey stain growing where the snowmobile had disappeared, another to realize what it meant. He had holstered his gun and was running forward, feet slipping and sliding, almost before the information landed. He had half-closed the distance to the wet dark spot when a red knit knob bobbed to the surface, running with water that was almost immediately crusting with ice on contact with the air.

"Hang on!" he called, not even sure Chambers could hear him. _Jesus, that had to be cold. _"I'm coming!" Of course, it would help to know where the body of water began, but he had a suspicion he was already on it anyway - that it started where the ground flattened out, even if he couldn't see it under the coating of snow. "COOP!"

He was close now. He could see Chambers face, weirdly purple-blue and fixed in a grimace, could see where the snow melted into wetness. He slowed. Hard to see where the ice suddenly got weak, but it seemed to support a man, if not a snowmobile. This was a far cry from the hockey and ice skating rinks of his youth, though, with their coat of ice over concrete. "Don't let go!" He had some vague memory of spreading mass and increasing contact to reduce weight - sort of like quicksand - and lowered himself carefully to the snow, bracing himself with his hands and pushing forward. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…cold, cold, cold_…he hated, HATED, the cold! He took a couple of short, quick breaths through his teeth, then managed to pry them apart long enough to say, "Okay - I'm almost there. Just hold on." Chambers looked barely conscious.

"Eppes?!"

He fumbled for Chamber's arm, outflung on the ice, grimaced as slush sloshed into his gloves. "Don't come out here!" he yelled back, scrabbling for a grip. "I'm not sure the ice will hold all three of us!" The ice groaned as he tightened his hold. He had no leverage from this position - the best he could do for now was hang on. But Chambers wouldn't be able to take much of this cold - getting him out somehow was a priority. _Death penalty or not, this was a hell of a way to go… _

"Can you get him out? I've got a big branch here - I can probably drag him in if you can."

He snuk a look at Chambers' face - it was hard to imagine him being much help, but otherwise he was probably a goner. "Chambers!" He put as much force behind it as he could manage. "Hey - I'm going to try and pull you out, but I need you to help me!" He shook the arm he was gripping slightly. "Hang in there - try!"

"I've called for help!" Coop's voice from behind him was a comforting lifeline. "They're on their way! Try to get him out, but make sure your ass doesn't end up in there with him!"

_Yeah. Easier said than done. _He shivered as the snow soaked into his jacket everywhere the ice made contact with his chest. Still, if he was cold, it had to be a thousand times worse for Chambers. He choked up further on Chambers' arm, was encouraged to see a flicker of reaction in his face. "Good. Grab my arm with your other hand. Pull your way up."

Chambers blinked, his expression glazed. _Crap. _Don inched forward, used his free hand to grab hold of his lapel. The fabric crunched under his fingers, crisp with ice and oozing chilled water. He tugged at it, hampered by his prone position. "Chambers!" He yelled directly in his face. "Help me help you!"

Chambers twitched and shivered, his arm rigid under Don's grip. Then he slid downward, dragging Don with him.

"No!"

Don wasn't sure if the yell came from him or Coop - maybe both. He felt the buttons of his coat poke into his chest as they scraped across the ice, tried to dig in with his boot toes to anchor them both against Chamber's inexorable weight. He hissed involuntarily as his forearms dipped into the icy water, mindlessly maintaining his grip on Chambers, burrowed his knees into the crunch of snow covering the ice to try and halt their progress. He got his knees under him, struggling to sit up, hoping the momentum would pull Chambers with him. Chambers was heavy, bigger than him and inert and soaked through with icy water, and the lake fought him, tendons burning at elbows and shoulder sockets. Still, all those pull ups and push ups had to be worth something and he gritted his teeth until they ached, pushing his knees forward and rearing his shoulders backward.

Man, this is going to hurt afterward, he thought involuntarily.

His ribs hit his knees as Chambers' weight yanked him forward again, his grip sliding, his body skidding closer to the yawning break in the ice. The ice moaned again, like a waking beast. He thrust his hand deeper into Chambers lapel, under his arm and inside the shoulder of the coat, didn't give himself a chance to catch his breath but threw himself backward this time, feet folded under him, giving a yell of mixed frustration and determination. He felt something pull near the base of his spine as he toppled backward, arms leaden and on fire at the same time, shoulder blades slapping bruisingly against the ice, head bouncing off the frozen surface, snow and rime digging into his hair. Something heavy and wet and frozen pinned his lower body, seeping icy water into his jeans, but the drag on his arms, at least, was less.

Instinctively, he tried to shift his knees, to get his legs out from their cramped position under him, but they were held fast. He tried to move a hand to that throbbing spot on the back of his skull, but they seemed to be entangled as well. He thought maybe he had managed to get Chambers out - at least part way. He should check to see - see if he was even still alive - start first aid - and he was going to do that, too - just as soon as all those bouncing stars stopped blotting out his vision.

After a minute he became aware of a far away voice yelling and made out the sound of his name. He tried to respond, but somehow or other he was still just lying there, the cold and the weight on his lower body immobilizing him. There was another sound now, one he realized he had been distantly aware of for a while, and the air above him stirred, a strong wind blowing the snow around him and freezing the wetness against him. It took him another second to identify it as a chopper. _Oh. Probably what Coop was trying to tell me. _

The wind got closer, loud and oppressive, tearing at his clothes and driving the frigid air into ever crevice of his body. He clenched his eyes against it. _Jesus, was this supposed to be helping?_ He managed to move his arms, threw them over his face to block out the sound and the wind.

"Don't move!" The sound of the bullhorn bounced deafeningly against the ice.

Yeah. No problem, Don thought, shuddering so violently now that he could hear little else over of the slamming of his own teeth against each other.

"We're lowering a harness. We're going to lift him aboard."

_Huh. Okay good - I must have gotten Chambers out. _Not that the poor schmuk stood much of a chance anyway - that water had to be…well, if his arms were any indication, deadly.

"Once we have him secured, we'll harness you as well. Are either of you hurt, agent? Can you tell us?"

_Okay, this is where a real professional would have a helpful answer ready. _Scraps of possibilities flew through his mind, but he still just lay there, shivering. Something slapped against him and he lifted his arms just high enough to peek. The wind battered his eyelids with ice crystals and he lowered his arms protectively again, but not before he'd caught a glimpse of a sturdy ladder of nylon rope.

"Just hang in there, Donnie! They'll have you in a second!"

_Coop. Jeez, if that was his idea of a pep talk then it was just as well he didn't make a habit of them. _He tightened the folded arms over his eyes, felt the weight on his legs shift. He couldn't make out any additional weight on the ice under him, so they must be trying to airlift them without actually touching down or dropping a man - a good idea, since that hole in the ice could only be growing. Just as he'd told Coop, the weight of three men here wasn't a good idea.

The weight on his legs moved again, seemed to unspool. Something hard and rounded rat-a-tat-tatted against his thigh and he peeked again, saw Chambers' boot toes swinging above him. _They work fast. Must not be their first time. _He tried to stretch his stiffening, frozen limbs, free from their pinning weight, tried to get some blood flow moving again, flopped over onto his stomach, wondering if he'd be able to get up by himself. The ice groaned again and he stilled instantly, barely breathing.

"Don't move, agent! We'll be back for you as soon as we have him loaded!"

He didn't need telling twice. He stayed sprawled on the ice, hands under him in the arrested action of pushing himself up, lifted his head and caught a glimpse of Coop, standing on the shore. Not as far away as it had seemed.

Coop looked pale, despite the wind-reddened skin covering his freckles, his mouth tentatively curling upward in the start of a grin. He cupped gloved hands around his mouth and hollered, "Shit, Eppes! Can't believe you got 'im! But don't you LA boys know it's not swimming season everywhere year round?"

He felt a smile tug at the cold-stiffened corners of his own mouth, grabbed a breath to answer.

A crack of thunder interrupted him, so loud and close that he ducked his head instinctively. When he looked up again questioningly at the sky all he could see was the rope ladder flapping in the wind of the helicopter rotors, and Chambers' crumpled form, dangling limply from the harness, being guided into the copter door by two men in parkas with identifying armbands.

His eyes sought Coop's, quizzically, saw the blank, horrified expression on his paling face, just as he felt the ground underneath him begin to part.

Coop's mouth was open in a silent yell - a rounded "oh" that could have been a howl of protest or maybe his name.

He tried to answer - tried to sit up, grab for something - maybe the dangling ladder - made a snatch at it and felt it bump his gloved fingers just before the wind tore it out of his grasp and the growing schism beneath him split and swallowed him whole.

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Well, hm. This was supposed to be the last part, but it got so long that now there is a Part 3 ending tag as well. Just a wrap up, because I hate to do the "H" without providing Don with a little "C". And a little guy time with Coop. _

_Liquid fire. _It was like being dunked in liquid fire: immobilized, devoured. He almost cried out, but some instinct kept his mouth sealed shut. The water surrounded him like a weight, pressing inward, filling his boots and dragging him downward. He tried to kick anyway, tried to remember all those swimmer's safety rules he'd learned all those years ago, but his mind was a white field of blankness, wrapped in the numbing silence of shock. He hung, suspended, life leeching out of him.

_Swim. For Christ's sake, Eppes, at least try for the surface_…he flapped his arms feebly. Not that he could really remember where that was.

One arm didn't respond, yanked against some unseen force, and the aborted movement awoke something inside his brain. Was he…caught…? He tugged at that arm experimentally, used it as a fulcrum to pull himself upward, what he assumed was upward anyway - toward it. His head broke the surface through a thin skim of new ice, air sucking into his lungs with a harsh whooshing noise. His hair slapped against his forehead, dripping and already freezing, his free hand flapped in front of him, smacked against something hard and solid with a force that would have made him wince, if he had been able to feel anything. It was an ice floe, and one of his sleeves seemed to be frozen to it. When the ice under him had fissured it must have broken off and floated away, taking him along. His free hand pounded over the surface, numb and uncoordinated, looking for a handhold. If he could drag himself up there he'd be a whole lot better off, in an awful kind of way. He was distantly aware of voices, the beating of rotor blades, further away this time, but his brain was frozen, shut down, unable to focus on anything but the task in front of him. He needed to pull himself up. The water was killing him - his brain felt a little foggier with every passing second. But his arm just lay there - limp and unresponsive, with no strength. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against one frozen sleeve, vanquished.

He thought he recognized Coop's voice now - yelling…something. Probably telling him to get his ass out of the water and onto the ice floe. _Yeah, well, why don't you get your worthless butt out here then and show me how it's done? _His legs, what little he could feel of them, were floating behind him, and it occurred to him that the floe must be moving. He squinted his eyes open and tried to look around. The shore seemed to be getting further away. He was headed out toward the endless expanse of open lake. _Well, shit, that can't be good. _

The steady beat of rotor blades underlay everything and he roused himself a little. They must be following, trying to figure out a way to retrieve him. Or his body, anyway. He was just going to catch a little nap while they worked on that. His eyes felt so heavy. He let them drop closed.

_Coop was still yelling something - probably some more of his useless advice - I mean, God forbid the guy should actually put a sock in it for a minute…probably just didn't want to bother breaking in a new partner…where would you find another guy willing to do all the dumb stuff and put himself into the line of fire anyway…? _

A concussive boom and a jarring jolt shook him from his semi-doze. His teeth clacked together and he shot forward head first, chest skimming over the ice. The force threw him in a spinning circle, slammed him into another wall of ice, his forehead rapping sharply against the jagged surface. He ricocheted off and lay still, trying to absorb the shock, vision dark and disoriented, something almost warm tickling his forehead. He squeezed his eyes tight shut then blinked.

_Huh. Whole world is rocking. Rocking for real, or is that just…? Okay, rocking for real. Ice floes - evidently not stable forms of transportation, old Lillian Gish movies aside. Probably part of that whole "floe" thing. _Not to mention the whole traffic issue, because it seemed like his had rammed into another ice jam. The way his luck was going they were probably headed for the falls.

_Did they have falls in Minnesota? Sure…the Minnehaha or something, right? But they weren't anywhere near the Minnehaha Falls, were they? No. They were near the North Shore, and according to the map…aw, crap. Just my luck. _

He buried his face in his arms. The most scenic coast in Minnesota. Falls after falls after falls…he was going to meet his end with a whimper, not a bang - riding over the falls on an ice floe like some old silent film heroine. Really, you had to laugh. Or you did if you had the strength. See, if this was a Lillian Gish movie, though, then Richard Barthelmess would be riding to the rescue right now. All he had to count on was Coop and a rescue chopper. Not the same. And anyway, if he had his choice, he's rather be rescued by Lillian. Barthelmess was stronger, but she was a lot prettier. He pictured her here on the ice floe with him, long golden curls flying behind her. Maybe she'd offer him Barthelmess' fur coat. That sounded real good about now. And a hot buttered rum. Maybe she'd even crawl into the fur coat with him, for medicinal purposes, of course, because Lillian Gish had always struck him as particularly chaste. He sighed.

Lillian gazed down at him, her large eyes wide with concern, then looked up sharply, her golden mane blowing wildly in every direction. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a loud "whop-whop-whop" sound. That made sense, of course - Lillian's films were silent. The hem of her long pink dress brushed his cheek as she stood.

_Don't go, Lillian. It's lonely out here all alone on these ice floes - well, I guess you'd know better than anybody. _

He tried to reach for her, but his hand brushed something else instead. _Not Lillian's dress - this was hard and solid. Maybe Barthelmess had arrived after all. Oh, well. Maybe just as well._ He was so tired.

"Agent!"

_Richard Barthelmess sure was loud. Or maybe it was the director. You always saw pictures of those old time silent film directors with megaphones_.

"Can you hear us? Are you injured anywhere?"

_Hear? Were they kidding? Jeez, they were loud – worse than Coop. Couldn't everybody just go away and let a guy get a little sleep? Except Lillian, of course. She could stay. And maybe Richard Barthelmess, if he had the fur coat. _

"Agent, we're going to lower a harness. Do you think you can get yourself into it, or do you need help?"

He folded his leaden arms over his head to block out the noise.

"Jesus, Eppes, get your worthless ass in that harness right now, or I swear to God, I'm coming out there and strapping it on you myself!"

_Coop. With a director's megaphone of his own, sounded like. Maybe he was wearing some of those cool old jodhpurs too. And a little beret. _He smiled inwardly at the mental image.

Something slapped between his shoulder blades then tickled his exposed cheek. He thought about shooing it away, but he was too sleepy. Maybe if he lay really, really still _(no problem there) _it would just go away. The megaphone was yelling something again, but he couldn't follow: the words seemed all jumbled up together. A second later - okay, maybe more, he might have blacked out for just a little - he felt his arm shift, which got his attention, because he was pretty sure he wasn't shifting it himself. In fact, he could just barely feel it, as though his arm had gone to sleep.

He tried to open his eyes, but they were sealed shut. He tried to ask who was there, but his lips didn't seem to work either. Maybe Lillian had come back. Maybe she was rescuing him after all.

Something flipped him over onto his back and the icy ground rocked wildly beneath him. He made a small sound of protest as the wind stung his now-exposed face, felt a strong grip at his shoulders, then a tightening around his chest. Something tugged at the center of his chest and he felt himself gradually pulled into sitting position, the wind tearing now at his hair. The tugging grew stronger, hoisting him upward, and he felt his legs start to unfold. Someone was holding onto him now - he recognized the arms of a person tight around his trunk. He tried to lift his head to look, felt it loll forward onto a neoprene shoulder instead. Then the ground dropped away beneath his feet and he was suspended in space, fighting the wind and the air currents as they started to move, angling, flying. He wanted to hang on to something, to find the ground again, but his arms hung limp against his commands. He twirled helplessly, the rush of the air deafening him, freezing his ear drums. The grip at his back tightened, something curled around the back of his skull, pressing his face into the neoprene.

And then they were dropping, his stomach see-sawing inside him. He wondered briefly if it would be really bad manners to throw up on Lillian Gish. Hands were grabbing at him, everywhere; it made him ill and claustrophobic, he tried to struggle, to tell them to back off and give him some room, but nothing came out.

He recognized one voice, yelling his name, then yelling about something else, followed by a stern voice in answer - a female voice, so Lillian Gish must be yelling at Coop. _Aw. He was gonna be mad about that. _

He was on his back now, moving fast, flying again, but horizontally. Damn it, somebody better let him be still pretty soon or he wasn't gonna be responsible for who he threw up on. Then he slid to an abrupt halt, followed by a loud clanging sound and they were flying again, the air screaming around them, careening to the right and then the left, and the hands were on him again, tearing at his clothes. _Hey, wait a minute, wait a minute…don't I get a say…? Maybe Lillian Gish wasn't as chaste as she looked. _

He heard Coop's voice again, stiff and angry, followed by another voice, cool and brisk and definitely female. The words all blurred together with the screaming air, but he was pretty sure Coop had just been put in his place. _Yup, he was gonna be pissed as hell all right._

"…I could rub his hands while you do that - Jesus, they're almost white!"

"Don't touch him! He's very fragile - you could give him a heart attack!"

_Fragile? Sheesh. That's just what a guy likes to hear! Maybe I'm a little under the weather right now, but_…something pressed against his neck, then chest, then groin, and he coughed, choked in a breath. Still, that felt a little better._ Kind of embarrassingly intimate but…maybe Lillian knew what she was doing. Those delicate-looking types always surprised you. _

"…I have a little whiskey on me - "

"No alcohol. Agent, I let you ride along as a courtesy, but if you keep interfering, I swear, I'll have this ambulance pull over and toss you out the door. If you care about your friend at all, you'll stay out of the way and let me work."

_Ouch. Poor Coop._

"…he's gonna be okay, right? Cause he looks…you know…"

"Just let me work and as soon as I can get clearance, we'll try warming him intravenously. We see a lot of hypothermia in these parts - trust me, we know what we're doing."

_Yeah? Good. Cause I really feel like_…the ambulance swung into a tight curve and overturned his tenuous control on his stomach. He felt his eyes pop open and tried to turn his head, but whatever was resting on his neck and chest and groin held him pinned down. Strong, slender hands curved around his head, supporting him, guiding him, since his outer body seemed powerless to react on its own. His abdomen cramped, over and over, and his back shook with the strain. Through a black cloud of misery, all he could think was that what came shooting out of him was the only warmth in his whole body.

The hands lowered his head at last and something damp patted at his face, then rested lightly against his hair. He sighed airlessly, exhausted, licked his lips, then moved them clumsily. "Thanks, Lillian." That truncated croak must actually be him.

He heard a soft chuckle, now that he could identify the screaming air as an ambulance siren, could distinguish the difference between that and voices. "Who's Lillian? Wife? Girlfriend?"

"Beats me." He could almost picture Coop's shrug. "No lack of ladies in this guy's life."

_Shame on you, Coop. Lillian Gish is not just another lady. _And it wasn't like he ever got to really date these days, not with their schedule and time on the road. Heck, personal hygiene was almost all the challenge he could handle. He felt the weight on his chest shift in a sigh. _Probably should have called her 'Miss Gish' anyway. More polite_.

"What did you call me?"

_Oops. Did I say that out loud…? Loud being a relative thing, of course…_

He wanted to explain himself, but the hands were at his head again, gentle but sure, dabbing at his forehead, pressing something against it, then feeling around the back, under his hair. Having his hair played with was a bit of a weakness. He opened his mouth to tell her so, but her fingers brushed a spot on the back of his skull and white lights exploded behind his eyes, blotting out sound and sensation, swallowing everything.

_TBC_


End file.
